Finding wellness in the Waikato
Siobhan Downes retreats to an unlikely blip in the Waikato countryside for a refreshing escape from real world stresses.
Who goes on a wellness retreat? The rich and the famous, right? People such as the Beckhams, Reese Witherspoon and Meghan Markle. It’s for people who have all the time and resources in the world, able to jet off to Bali or Sri Lanka at the snap of a perfectly-manicured finger, to spend weeks in a luxurious cocoon dedicated to self-improvement.
At least, that’s what I thought, until I spent three days at a retreat in the unlikeliest of wellness destinations – a sprawling rural property in Karapiro, in the Waikato region.
Looking nervously around the room on the first day, there are no celebrity guests among our group, but there are familiar faces – women who remind me of my own family, friends and colleagues.
Many have come from Hamilton and Tauranga. A few have driven down from Auckland. Some have come alone, and some have come in pairs – with sisters or friends. One woman is here on the recommendation of her doctor, for nutrition advice. For most of us, it’s our first retreat experience.
‘‘What is that?’’ asks one woman, warily eyeing her glass of chia pudding that has been handed out as a snack on the first morning.
We’ve chosen a safe space to dip our toes into this wellness business. Resolution Retreats was started in 2012 by former chartered accountant Joelene Ranby, who saw the need for a live-in retreat in New Zealand specialising in women’s health.
There are several programmes on offer, from three-day ‘‘fresh starts’’ to three-week ‘‘life changers’’.
As far as retreats go, this one is at the more accessible end of the market, around the $500 a day mark (and it’s cheaper if you’re willing to share your chalet with a fellow guest).
On the website, it’s emphasised that it’s not just a weight loss retreat. But it is acknowledged that about half the guests come with the number on the scale on their mind.
On longer retreats, there is a weight loss guarantee – as in you get your money back if you don’t weigh less when you leave than when you arrived.
The purpose of our retreat is to offer a taste of those longer programmes.
Ranby starts by talking us through her own health journey. Not a ‘‘naturally healthy’’ person, in her 20s she experienced a rude wake-up call when she was asked if she was pregnant when she wasn’t. She taught herself to cook properly, trained as a group instructor, and studied nutrition.
One of the biggest issues with women’s health today, she says, is that expectations are beyond what any reasonable human can handle. On these retreats, she sees women who don’t know anything about health, but equally, women who know far too much and have become overwhelmed.
The retreats provide an opportunity to uncomplicate wellness by going back to basics, and Ranby’s philosophy is simple: Trying to be ‘‘healthier’’ is much more realistic than ‘‘healthy’’. It’s about ‘‘progress, not perfection’’.
Over the next few days, these messages are reiterated by Ranby’s squad of charismatic, activewear-clad retreat facilitators. These superwomen hold workshops on meal planning and nutrition, sharing easily digestible tips such as ‘‘tailor carb intake to times of higher activity’’ and ‘‘have protein with every meal’’.
They teach us about gut health, demonstrate how to make sauerkraut at home, and show us how to read food labels.
We are a captive audience, earnestly taking notes throughout the talks, and snapping pictures of Powerpoint slides on our phones to review later.
But we’re not totally indoctrinated. There are more than a few sniggers at the suggestion that ‘‘kombucha is a great alternative to wine’’.
The facilitators are also in charge of the cooking on retreat. Dishes are more My Food Bag than Michelin-star, but that’s the whole point, we’re supposed to be able to recreate them in the real world, and we’re all sent home with a digital copy of Ranby’s cookbook, Retreat Yourself.
We tuck into a tasty massaman fish curry on the first night, and a hearty chicken and mushroom casserole the next, with homemade pizza, a hummus bowl, and halloumi salad for lunches.
The only times I find my stomach rumbling are when snacks are served in the dining room, at 11am and 3.30pm each day. As someone with a daily chocolate bar habit, three days is not long enough to fully convert me to seedstudded bliss balls and chickpea cookies.
But I’m surprised by how much I enjoy the exercise sessions. We do short circuit workouts, aqua aerobics in the heated swimming pool, and yoga and meditation classes.
Our instructor caters admirably to all levels and ages, from the obvious gym bunnies to grandmothers with walking sticks.
The retreat is a safe little bubble to try new things, free from judgment. I would never have imagined myself shimmying like Jennifer Lopez at 8am on a Saturday, with nothing more than herbal tea to serve as a social lubricant. But here I am, front row, leading my retreat mates in a vigorous dance version of ‘‘follow the leader’’.
Between workshops and workouts is free time dubbed ‘‘bliss time’’.
Upon seeing these big empty spaces on the schedule on the first day, I feel like kicking myself. I should have brought my laptop, I think wildly. I could have caught up on some work.
Instead, my private chalet becomes a little retreat within the retreat. I curl up on the couch, reading a magazine from cover to cover for the first time in ages, and I treat myself to a mid-afternoon bubble bath.
I even watch a bit of evening telly. Unlike other wellness retreats, there’s no pressure to completely ‘‘switch off’’, and no rules around bedtime. Still, I end up in bed before 9pm on both nights, exhausted from all that relaxation.
It’s also tempting to spend bliss time at the onsite spa. All guests get a 45-minute facial included in their stay, but can opt to upgrade their booking to include daily hour-long treatments. You can also book and pay for treatments individually.
Those of us who haven’t gone for the package soon develop green eyes seeing the other women floating off to their appointments in their fluffy white robes, prompting a rush to the reception area to nab last-minute massages.
Three days is a short time. By the end of it, most of us agree we could have stayed for longer, if for no other reason than to have a few more days without having to plan what we’re having for dinner, do the dishes, or answer to anyone other than ourselves.
‘‘It’s just so lovely not having to think about anything,’’ one guest says.
But not everyone is feeling the bliss. Another guest is suffering from a nasty headache on the final morning, already experiencing the effects of caffeine withdrawal.
‘‘My husband will ask how I feel and I’ll have to say I feel like s...,’’ she says at breakfast, to hoots of sympathetic laughter.
As for me? I have to admit, I’m feeling in decent shape. Like my body and mind have been debloated, even if just a little.
I’m somewhat sceptical as to how long it will last – and sure enough, I can’t resist a glass of wine at Hamilton Airport on my way home or the Air New Zealand cookie on the plane.
But in the weeks since the retreat, I’ve found little voice notes have been popping into my head. Really simple things, like, ‘‘hey, have another glass of water’’. Or ‘‘go on, do that quick YouTube workout – you will feel good afterwards’’. And even just ‘‘breathe’’.
Amid all the noise about wellness, I figure listening to these is a good place to start.
For more information, visit resolutionretreats.co.nz.